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B E A U T Y.

B!

EAUTY! thou wild fantastic ape,

Who dost in every country change thy shape ! Here black, there brown, here tawny, and there white; Thou flatterer ! which comply'st with every light!

Thou Babel, which confound'st the eye With unintelligible variety!

Who haft no certain What, nor Where; But vary'st still, and doft thyself declare

Inconstant, as thy she-profeffors are.

Beauty ! Love's scene and masquerade,
So gay by well-plac'd lights and distance made;
False coin, with which th’impostor cheats us still;
The stamp and colour good, but metal ill !

Which light or base we find, when we
Weigh by enjoyment, and examine thee !

For, though thy being be but show,
'Tis chiefly night which men to thee allow :
And chuse t' enjoy thee, when thou leaft art Thou.

Beauty! thou active, passive ill !
Which dy'st thyself as faft as thou dost kill!
Thou tulip, who thy stock in paint doft waste,
Neither for physic good, nor smell, nor taste.

Beauty! whose flames but meteors are,
Short-liv'd and low, though thou would't seem a star;

Who dar'ft not thine own home descry, Pretending to dwell richly in the eye, When thou, alas ! doft in the fancy lie.

Beauty!

:

Beauty! whose conquests still are made O'er hearts by cowards kept, or else betray'd ; Weak victor! who thyself destroy'd must be When Sickness storms, or Time besieges thee !

Thou 'unwholesome thaw to frozen age ! Thou strong wine, which youth's fever dost enrage!

Thou tyrant, which leav'st no man free ! Thou subtle thief, from whom nought safe can be ! Thou murderer, which hast kill'd, and devil, which

would'st damn me!

THE PARTING.

As

S men in Greenland left beheld the sun

From their horizon run,

And thought upon the sad half-year Of cold and darkness they must fuffer there : So on my parting mistress did I look;

With such swoln eyes my farewell took ;

Ah, my fair star! said I; Ah, those blest lands to which bright Thou doft ily! In vain the men of learning comfort me,

And say I 'm in a warm degree ;

Say what they please, I say and swear 'Tis beyond eighty' at least, if you 're not here. It is, it is; I tremble with the frost,

And know that I the day have lost;

And those wild things which men they call, I find to be but bears or foxes all.

Return,

Return, return, gay planet of mine East, !

Of all that shines thou much the beft!

And, as thou now descend'st to sea, More fair and fresh rise up from thence to me! Thou, who in many a propriety,

So truly art the sun to me,

Add one more likeness (which I'm sure you can) And let me and my sun beget a man!

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HER

ERE, take

my likeness with you, whilft 'tis fo ;
For, when from hence you go,
The next sun's rising will behold
Me pale, and lean, and old:

The man who did this picture draw,
Will swear next day my face he never saw.
I really believe, within a while,

If you upon this shadow smile,
Your prefence will such vigour give
(Your presence, which makes all things live !)

And absence so much alter me,
This will the substance, I the shadow, be.
When from your well-wrought cabinet you take it,

And your bright looks awake it,
Ah! be not frighted if you

fee
The new-foul'd picture gaze on thee,

And hear it breathe a figh or two;
For those are the first things that it will do.

My

My rival-image will be then thought bleft,

And laugh at me as dispossest;
But thou, who (if I know thee right)
I'th' substance doft not much delight,

Wilt rather send again for me,
Who then shall but my picture's picture be.

THE

CONCEALMENT.

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No, wretched heart! swell till

you

break. She cannot love me if she would ; And, to say truth, 'twere pity that she should.

No; to the grave thy sorrows bear ;

As silent as they will be there :
Since that lov'd hand this mortal wound does give,

So handsomely the thing contrive,
That she may guiltless of it live i

So perish, that her killing thee
May a chance-medley, and no murder, be.

'Tis nobler much for me, that I
By her beauty, not her anger, die :

This will look justly, and become
An execution ; that, a martyrdom.

The censuring world will ne'er refrain

From judging men by thunder llain.
She must be angry, sure, if I should be

So bold to ask her to make me,
By being her's, happier than she !

I will not ; 'tis a milder fate
To fall by her not loving, than her hate.

And

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And yet this death of mine, I fear,
Will ominous to her appear ;

When, found in every other part,
Her sacrifice is found without an heart;

For the last tempest of my death

Shall figh out that too with my breath.
Then shall the world my noble ruin see,

Some pity and some envy me ;
Then she herself, the mighty The,

Shall grace my funerals with this truth;
*r 'Twas only Love destroy'd the gentle youth !"

THE MONOPOLY.
WHAT mines of fulphur in my breast do lie,

That feed th' eternal burnings of my heart !
Not Ætna fames more fierce or constantly,
The sounding shop of Vulcan's smoky art :

Vulcan his shop has placed there,

And Cupid's forge is set-up here.
Here all those arrows' mortal heads are made,
That fly so thick unseen through yielding air ;
The Cyclops here, which labour at the trade,
Are Jealousy, Fear, Sadness, and Despair.

Ah, cruel God! and why to me

Gave you this curst monopoly?
I have the trouble, not the gains, of it :-
Give me but the disposal of one dart,
And then (I 'll alk no other benefit)
Heat as you please your furnace in my heart :

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